by Sky Winters
The day was beautiful and the sunlight filtered through the branches creating a soft green glow over everything it touched. The berries were abundant and there were too many to carry. The forest was empty around her, apart from the genial sing song of the native birds. Quickly she took off her cap, releasing her long hair around her shoulders. There was no-one about to see her and no harm would be done and quickly she started to pick the berries, placing them inside the cap for easy carriage home. She began to sing ‘Early One Morning’ softly to herself, remembering the previous night and her heart was light.
Very soon the cap was full and her fingers sticky and stained with the juice. She had walked to the edge of a trickling brook, clear and shimmering in the soft sunlight and putting down the capful of berries, decided to stay a while longer, enjoying the peace and quiet of the open air.
Arabella must have fallen asleep for she was wakened with a start by a noise behind her. She thought she had heard men talking, probably just the men from the camp, but she gathered the cloak loosely around her and shrank back into the undergrowth.
She listened intently, all was quiet. Perhaps they had gone away; perhaps it had just been the gurgling of the brook after all/. Whatever had woken her,it was time to get back to the relative safety of the camp.
Standing up she brushed the dry leaves from her clothes and bent down to pick up the cap full of berries. A twig snapped in front of her and she looked up.
There stood Andrew Stewart and two of his men, they had been watching her all along.
The Laird eyed her suspiciously. This was not the picture of a girl who had been taken against her will. She was happy; he had heard her singing a short while before, the refrains of a love song if he was not mistaken. The anger rose inside him as he thought of his enemy, James Macadam, but he tried not to let his feelings show,
“Well my dear, this is a nice surprise, I hardly recognised you in that outfit. You are a proper Robin Hood and no mistake. You will be pleased to know that I have come to rescue and take you back to Inverness where we can be married post haste.”
The girl shrank from his gaze. What she had once thought of as handsome, she now saw as cruel and heartless. She could never love this man, ever.
For a moment she stood defiantly, trying to hold her head high and stop herself from shaking.
“I no longer wish to marry you sir. I am grateful for your offer but I will not be coming with you.”
Lord Andrew felt the ire rise within him.
“So, you are going to stay here, but a young girl on her own, under whose protection will you be?”
He was playing games with her but she had to continue.
“James Macadam.”
He could no longer contain his jealousy. He loathed James Macadam with a passion, he was everything that he was not and now it seemed he had the love of his betrothed, his Arabella. He had not loved the girl but she was attractive and would have suited him well between the bed sheets.
He smiled down at the girl with the eyes of a serpent.
“I’m afraid I have made a pact with your father and I am a man of my words. You will come back with me now and we will be married tomorrow. I am prepared to overlook your little indiscretion, but you will remain under lock and key in the castle until you can be trusted. I can think of many ways to keep you entertained,” he licked his lips lasciviously as he looked her up and down.
“Get her into the carriage men, we head back immediately.”
Arabella tried to struggle but the men soon had her captive and she was soon bundled into the back of the carriage. It was no use, there was nothing she could do, only hope that somehow James would get to her in time.
She did not weep, she would not allow herself to weep in front of this terrible man, and she dug her nails into the palms of her hands to stop her from crying.
“At least now you have me, you can relinquish the lands you have stolen from the Macadam Clan and release James’s father?”
Andrew Stewart snorted in derision. “Then you are more naive than I thought my dear. Of course I will not be giving back the lands. The old man will be put to death and the others will shortly follow, including your beloved James.”
She wanted to tear at his face but her hands were bound and she sat, hopeless, pondering her fate, as the carriage rumbled on towards Inverness.
The men had decided quickly on a plan and James hurried to tell Arabella the news. When he could not find her in the camp he began to worry. Some of the men had seen her wander off into the forest a little more than an hour ago but had not seen her return. James was angry that no-one had stopped her, and getting up a small band of his men they started to comb the forest. Soon the little cap of berries was found and James feared the worse. The tracks of a carriage and horses was found a little further out and his fears were confirmed – it could only be one man that had taken his beloved Arabella – Lord Andrew Stewart.
Racing back to camp James saddled his horse and with two of his most trusty men they set off on the trail of the Laird. They would ride much quicker than the lumbering carriage and they would soon be able to track it down.
Andrew Stewart had been asleep, dreaming of bedding the delightful Arabella when the coach came to an abrupt stop and the lurching motion of the carriage caused him to wake.
He pounded on the roof of the carriage and called out to see what the matter was.
The driver’s voice was thin and afraid.
“I think you had better come and look for yourself sir.”
Frustrated with the stop to his journey, Lord Stewart stuck his head out of the window. He could not see anything and opened the door and jumped out into the open.
Walking to the front of the coach he froze in fear. There stood three enormous brown bears, directly in their path.
Turning back towards the carriage, he raced forward to collect his gun, but was too slow. The largest of the bears had him trapped in its gigantic paws and dragged him away into the undergrowth. The sharp claws tore at his skin, the large teeth gorging into the soft flesh until he was no more.
Arabella had sat quietly in the carriage, she had managed to work on the bindings to her hands and finally break free. There had been strange noises outside and she had been afraid. Now it was silent and she cautiously stepped outside to see what had happened. At first she wondered where Lord Stewart had gone, and then she noticed a trail of blood on the grass leading into the bushes. The coach driver was missing too and the air was eerily silent. As she walked towards the undergrowth she thought she saw something move. A crackle of dry leaves followed by the snap of twigs, and then she saw it, the magnificent brown bear. It had seen her and she froze. She had heard stories of these creatures and how they could tear a man apart with their sharp claws and teeth.
It lumbered towards her, its brown deep eyes staring deep into hers. It seemed calm and yet she closed her eyes, braced herself for the inevitable. All was quiet again.
Opening her eyes the bear was stood a short distance away, still gazing at her. A large paw came towards her and she held her breath, yet the claws were pulled back and the dry leather paw touched her face softly. She almost fainted with fear, yet there was something about this creature, something almost familiar.
With a great bellow it raised itself onto its hind legs and waved its gigantic paws into the air before falling down onto the ground.
The poor thing looked ill, it seemed to writhe around in agony and she could only stand and watch. The face twisted and contorted, it was changing before her very eyes. The body was changing shape and instead of brown fur there was bare skin. Soon James Macadam was lying naked before her and she eventually swooned, the whole experience being too great for her mind to contemplate.
When Arabella next awoke, she was back at the camp. She did not know how long she had been asleep, but it had grown dark and she was very hungry. James was sat next to her, he looked tired and worn, deep shadows forming under his eyes, yet he smiled when he s
aw her wake and his whole visage changed to one of joy.
“James I had the most fantastic dream.”
His smile changed to a look of concern.
“Arabella, there is something you need to know about me.”
As she looked into his dark, brown eyes, she thought of the bear and deep inside already knew. There had always been something different about James Macadam, and although she could hardly believe it, knew it was true.
“I would never hurt you Arabella, you must trust me. My family is ancient and we have handed down the werebear gene from generation to generation. It is said that one of my ancestors was cursed by a witch for not returning his love and was turned into a savage bear, but through the centuries we have learned to tame our bear and use it only when we must –that is our code”
She placed her hand in his for comfort, not knowing what to say.
“Can you still love me after this Arabella, I understand if it is too much. I should have told you but I was afraid?”
Weaving her fingers into his she looked openly into his deep, dark eyes.
“I love you, no matter what James and I always will.”
The pair kissed and James gave her a knowing smile.
“It’s good job that you do. I fear that our first night of passion has produced a new life within you,” he touched her stomach tenderly.
She had felt different too, something that she hadn’t quite grasped, but there had been a fullness about her, a blossoming that she had put down to love, yet how could he know? She looked up at him quizzically.
“Call it my animal instinct.”
The new Laird of Inverness was a kindly, younger man, a nephew of the late Lord Andrew Stewart. His had been a terrible death, ripped to pieces by a pack of wild bears, but many said it was not undeserved. The lands were restored to the Macadam Clan by the new Lord Stewart and the old man was immediately released and recovered well in his ancestral home.
James and Arabella were soon married with the full blessing of her parents. With Lord Stewart dead there was nothing more to be done. Besides, they had never fully understood who was behind the kidnapping of their daughter in the first place.
Their joy was complete with the birth of their son, James Macadam the second, a bonny baby with dark brown eyes like his fathers and a shock of wild brown hair.
He was her baby bear.
*****
Clan of the Cave Wolf
A group of men thundered by on horses as Lady Catriona emerged from her tent. The animals’ hooves tore up the ground, tossing clumps of mud and grass across the encampment. In the lead was Lord Hector - Catriona’s husband. They rode into camp, throwing up whoops and hollers, having captured a single Highland rebel. Hector turned his horse ‘round and kicked it towards his wife.
“What do you think of our game, my love?” He asked loudly, to put on a show.
Catriona suppressed a curl of her lip and raised her chin. “It is very grand, my Lord.”
The Lord laughed, barked, in amusement. “This mangy cur?” He spat on the ground, “first time he’s ever been called grand, I’m sure.”
The other men joined in with their own thick laughter. Jeering at the man they held captive - though the prisoner’s face remained still, distant. Catriona bowed her head, quitting the conversation without further comment. Her husband spurred his horse and returned to his task. Looking up, Catriona took a brief glance at the stranger. Mangy cur was not the phrase she would choose to describe him. The man held his head high, and his shoulders straight - despite the harsh pull of the rope around his wrists. His body was well toned, muscles taught - there was an animal-like quality about him to be sure. But not one of weakness or frenzy. He was strong and lean - and his presence couldn’t help but remind Catriona of what her life might have been, had Hector not chosen her as a bride.
The captive turned his head, meeting Catriona’s gaze before he was dragged from her sight. His eyes were piercing even from a distance - and they made Catriona shiver. Before she could blink, he was already gone - spirited away to another part of camp, to be bound and ridiculed. Her husband out of sight, Catriona did little to hide the disgust on her face. Life had turned out so much differently than she had once expected as a young girl. Marriage to Lord Hector seemed the only practical choice at the time - he would provide security and wealth in a time when the Scottish lands were in uncertain upheaval. The Highlanders were fighting back against the Englishmen who continuously stole their land and enforced their rule. In truth, Catriona had been lucky to catch Hector’s eye. Instead of leaving her to be taken by the men of his camp, he instead took her aside to woo for himself. With this, Catriona ensured the safety of her own family - if not those of her former village.
The first year or so was easy - she was still in Hector’s good favor. He doted upon her and showed her off as frequently as possible. But soon the question of a child became an issue. Hector hadn’t the gall to force himself upon her, but the few times Catriona did allow him into her bed, it was cold and unpleasant. His sweet words quickly turned into admonishments and strings of hateful whispers into her ear. She had never suspected Hector a kind man, but the strength of his cruelty was sharp. While he still played the part around his men, or men and women of the court, Catriona dreaded being left alone by his side. Over the course of a few years, Catriona had become attuned to her husband’s moods, his movements. She knew when a strike would come, when he was merely yelling, or when he would destroy the room to intimidate her. To confront Lord Hector directly…Catriona couldn’t be truly sure of the outcome. That is why she decided to make a fool of him behind his back. To make him small in the eyes of his men. She would free the Highland rebel that night.
The camp was subdued, muted, as the moon’s wavering light drifted through the clouds. Catriona had feigned illness to her husband - claiming the constant travel was doing her no good.
Hector had scoffed, “and I thought you Scottish women were supposed to be hardy. Should have chosen a girl with better constitution.” But he let her be, more inclined to join the men in their drinking and rabble-rousing than interrogate his wife.
When the sounds of their revels died down, Catriona crept carefully and silently from the back of her tent. Her long black hair was held back in a tight bun as she snuck through the darkness - she didn’t want it hindering her in any way. In her boot was a small knife - it once belonged to her father, mainly used to gut fish. But tonight she would use it to cut the stranger’s restraints…and perhaps bequeath it to him. Catriona realized the man would have been stripped of his own weapons, and if she were going to give him half a chance, this was the best she could do. She comforted herself in the loss of such a dear item with the thought that her father would have done the same. Across the camp sat a small tent, separated from the others and guarded by a single man. Judging by his absent stare and poorly stifled yawns, he would be easy enough to creep by. As long as the captive inside let up no alarm as she entered.
Crouching, balancing on the balls of her feet and her fingertips, Catriona couldn’t help but smirk. Crawling about in the mud. This certainly wasn’t the image Lord Hector had in mind for his bride, she was sure. Taking a long arc around to the back of the prisoner’s tent, Catriona sliced herself an entrance with the small knife. It was duller than she expected and took a few moments to truly cut a hole big enough for her. She hoped the rebel captive would remain quiet until she was finished.
Poking her head in at last, she came face to face with the man. He was sitting, hands tied to the wooden pole behind his back. He wore a ragged shirt, with no sign of buttons or string, and a heavy kilt tied about his waist. His boots were leather, battered by unknown years of mud and travel. The man’s head was tilted, his amber eyes sparkling with bewildered amusement.
“Hello,” he whispered, “is this meant to be a rescue - or are you simply redecorating?”
Catriona blinked, taken aback by the unexpected quip. Her cheeks flushed, a slight indi
gnation brewing beneath her skin.
“I beg your pardon?” She uttered as quietly as possible, while still maintaining an air of offended dignity.
The man chuckled under his breath. “Forgive me. I was trying to think of something clever to say all that while, and that was the best I could muster - under the circumstances.”
He shrugged, tugging lightly at his restraints. Catriona hesitated only a moment more, bemused by the stranger’s odd nature. She shuffled into the tent and knelt on the other side of the pole.
“Well, you’ll have more time to think of something better,” she slipped the knife between the man’s hands and began to saw at the rope. “I still need to cut through these.”
“Saints preserve us, let’s pray you finish before sun up.” His voice was light, joking more than disparaging.
Catriona shook her head silently. She had envisioned their first encounter many times before nightfall - expecting the man to be stoic, noble, and certainly more grateful than this. But here he was teasing her, jesting. It was odd, however…somehow this did not feel out of place. It was as if the two of them had known each other long before this moment. As if two good friends were finally reuniting.
“What’s your name?” The man broke into her thoughts. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his savior.
“Lady Catriona,” she replied quickly. “And you?”
“My name is Conall,” he began - then a thought seemed to strike him, “wait a moment…Lady?”
He attempted to twist himself around even more, but Catriona kept her focus on the ropes and the movement of her knife.
“Lady?” Conall repeated, keeping his voice low despite the curiosity in him.
“Yes.” Catriona said simply.
“As in the Lady married to our lovely Lord Hector out there?”
